


Memoria

by cadavatar



Category: Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator
Genre: Also; the importance of Kurt Cobain, Angst and Fluff and Smut, College, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Flashbacks, M/M, My First Work in This Fandom, Rating May Change, Slow Build, Trans Character, Trans Dadsona (Dream Daddy), Trans Male Character, Transitioning, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-10 04:20:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11683929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadavatar/pseuds/cadavatar
Summary: Craig was Rowan's roommate. His best friend. He was his best man in him and Alex's wedding. And beyond the shitty 90's polaroids, the hungover exams, the greasy Denny's brunches, and the keg stands--SO many keg stands--there was more to their relationship than that. Craig was... The best person in Rowan's life. He was there when nobody else was. Even when his best friend turned her back on him, even when his parents told him not to come home if he wasn't "their daughter" anymore, Craig was still right beside him.Up until he wasn't.(Nobody had to say their second time catching up was the first time they felt more than platonic. What had he said... That when they met again, it felt like they were "picking up where we left off"? Yeah. ...It could be something like that.)





	1. Back Then: Meeting the Asshole

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LittleMissHara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleMissHara/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This is my first work in this fandom, and I'm very excited to be providing some more Craig/Dadsona fic, as Craig is one of my favorite characters in the game. This work will update as requested by LittleMissHara, who is commissioning it.
> 
> Please note that all recognizable characters, are the property of the game creators. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story, but the author is in no way associated with the owners and creators of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> Please read the chapter, but also stick around for the end notes, as they are important! Please enjoy the fic!

The first time Craig Cahn had been pointed out to her, Rebecca had been told that he was an asshole. 

“See that guy? He’s such an asshole.” 

Yep. That definitely happened. 

It wasn’t hard to believe. Ashley was doing the pointing after all, and in high school, she had trusted Ashley’s judgement the most out of anybody else. There, leaning against the wall of the fraternity living room, was not the time to start doubting her friend’s judgement of a person’s character. Whatever Ashley said, she would definitely believe. Especially about drunk frat boys. Rebecca sipped her drink and wrinkled her nose at the taste. 

“Why do people drink Beer anyway? It’s like getting Stockholm Syndrome-d into your drink.” She wasn’t sure that she would ever actually _like_ Beer. Pot had been fine in high school, chilling at Cynthia’s house with Ashley and the guys, smoking joints and watching re-runs of She-Ra while they were stoned. But whenever they started drinking at Cynthia’s house, things got out of control. Kind of like things were now. 

“Shit, that asshole is doing a keg stand.” Ashley snapped her train of thought back to the reality rail known as the semester’s opening frat party, and pure horror took over Rebecca’s face as the guy was held upside down by a couple of older jocks over a keg of Beer. 

“Please tell me college isn’t always like this, Ash.” 

“I mean. We have to go to class sometime, right?” 

They traded looks. 

“Fuck.” In unison, they shotgunned from their red solo cups, slipping away amongst the crowd. It was easier than Rebecca expected, but then again, she doubted any frat boys would stop the two of them. They weren’t exactly sorority material in their denim vests and black band tees. Besides, if Ashley got stopped, she’d likely take her combat boots to somebody’s balls. It was a chilling thought. 

There were plenty of people in the kitchen, but surprisingly less than expected, given the rest of the house was a wall to wall crowd. One more back to school party, and all that. Rebecca leaned on the counter, eyeing a hole in the frat house ceiling that looked suspiciously similar to the size of someone’s head. Ashley was going through their fridge. “What’cha doing?” Her eyes were still on the hole. How did that happen? Was it a freak accident? A party trick gone wrong? Did they live?! 

“Looking for anything that may look like alcohol, but isn’t.” Ash explained, opening a container of milk, sniffing it, and wrinkling her nose. “Ugh.” She gagged, then spit in the milk jug and closed it again. 

“Yikes. Harsh.” Sitting her empty cup on the counter, Rebecca leaned over to look in the fridge too, eyeing their choices. 

“Prognosis is grim, Beck.” 

“I dunno, Ash. It’s so difficult, I don’t think I can choose between Beer and Beer Lite.” 

“Remind me not to introduce you to the world of hard liquor, you may never come back—I think that’s apple juice.” There, in the back of the fridge, there was a half full container. It was indeed apple juice, upon further inspection. They rationed it, half in Ash’s glass, half in hers. Rebecca stared at it. It did indeed look convincingly close to Beer. Flat Beer, maybe, but it’d do in a pinch. 

“Hell yes.” The two clinked their solo cups in a mutual “cheers” gesture—now they could nurse their cups and not worry about getting drunk. Perfect for observing their first frat party. 

Standing in the hallway between the kitchen and the living room, Rebecca watched people pass, then remembered what Ashley had mentioned earlier. “So, why is that guy an asshole?!” She yelled over the crowd of people, catching Ashley’s attention. She shrugged, scratching her head. Rebecca was keenly aware of their matching mullets. Maybe that was why guys weren’t talking to them; they assumed they were grunge lesbians. 

Well, it wasn’t far from the truth. Though Rebecca didn’t think Joan Jett was grunge. Unless she was. Was she? 

“No reason, aside from the fact that he’s only _everything_ that’s wrong with the patriarchy!” 

Ah. This again. Rebecca looked in her drink. She almost wished she had a real drink for this. “Oh?” She asked, halfheartedly. 

It was enough encouragement for Ashley. “Guys like that, they let their need for asserting their masculinity totally consume them! If you look at the social construct of fraternity culture—” 

Aaaaaaand she’s off. 

To be fair, she wasn’t wrong, and Rebecca appreciated the lesson in a way. Or, rather, she would, if she hadn’t heard the same spiel about seven times already through the night when they decided to “crash” a frat party, as if it wasn’t one big “crash” already. Looking down the line of tall, buff jocks chest bumping and chugging Beer together, there was a twinge of disgust in her chest at the sight. Didn’t they have class in the morning? Wasn’t this... Excessive, or something? What if somebody died? 

“Whoa. You’re like, suuuuper tall, chica.” 

A drunk jock swayed on his feet and propped his hand up on the wall next to her head, cutting off Ashley’s explanation of “toxic masculinity” mid-sentence. 

“Dude, lay off!” Ashley yelled behind him, most likely agitated she had been ignored, and was still being ignored. 

Rebecca, for her part, tried to play it cool, despite Ashley’s obvious irritation. “Uh... Thanks. Dude. Yeah.” 

The frat boy grinned. “Like, how tall are you? What, Five ten?” 

“Five eight, but I’m in docs, so.” 

“Nice! Veeery nice.” Alright, now he was looking her up and down. He wasn’t even trying to hide it, he was practically drooling. Using her drink as a prop, Rebecca tried not to look nervous, and failed, horribly. Fortunately, Ashley had her back. “Hey, lay off, scrub!” She shouted from behind him, forcing the jock to turn around and look down at the shorter woman, who jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “Take a fuckin’ hike, will ya’? We’re talking here!” 

But, despite her friend’s efforts, the frat boy just raised his brows, laughed, and turned back around. “What, you two lesbians or something?” 

It was the hair, wasn’t it? Probably was the hair. She never should have let Ashley convince her on the mullet. “Ah, no, not exactly—” 

“So why’s shorty buggin’ over here? You want to come up top with me and get it on?” The drunk eyed her chest. “Though, your tits are pretty small, I guess.” Oh. Oh God. Shit. Nope. Abort mission. 

Ashley, for her part, was gearing up to hop on the frat boy’s back and beat the shit out of him in a way only she could manage, while Rebecca tried to figure out whether she’d lose points on her SAT scores if she head butted him first. But out of nowhere, a hand landed on the drunk’s shoulder, forcing him to peel away from the wall. 

“Dude! Did you _see_ that keg stand?! C’mon, try to top that!” 

It was opportunity, and it knocked harder than whoever put their head through the kitchen ceiling. Rebecca’s hand shot out and found Ashley’s shirt sleeve, pulling her along the hall and dragging her into the kitchen. When she looked back, she spotted the guy from before—the supposed asshole—looking over the frat boy’s shoulder. He gave her a subtle thumbs up, and then, she was out the back door. 

“What the _fuck_ was that?!” Ashley was screeching, gesturing back inside. “You can’t let people talk to you like that, Beck! You need to take control and assert yourself!” 

“I mean. To be fair, I’m pretty tall.” 

“Beck.” 

“And I do have small, er. Well I mean, I wore a sports bra, so—” 

“That is _so_ not the point, and you know it.” 

Rebecca shrugged, trying to look apologetic. “Sorry. I mean, you can go back if you want to defend my honor, or whatever. I think I might chill out here a bit.” 

Ashley stomped around the backyard, ignoring the other college students watching her fume. “Yeah, you know what? I’m going in there. I’m gonna find that asshole and make him apologize to you.” 

In situations like this... It was best to let her get it all out. Her temper was pretty mythical in proportion, Rebecca had learned that lesson early on. 

“Go get ‘em, _Smash_ ley.” She joked, watching her friend climb up the back porch steps and flip her off as she opened the screen door. 

“Ugh, Beck, I hate that nickname so _fucking_ hard.” She quipped, then stomped ahead inside. 

Once her smaller, angrier friend was gone, Rebecca sighed, shoulders slumping as she rubbed the back of her neck. That’s it. After class tomorrow, she was going to go to a Great Clips and get her mullet hacked off. Throwing herself down into a lawn chair, she closed her eyes and pictured it. She’d look like Winona Ryder with a good, short haircut. It would definitely pair well with the grunge look her and Ashley (read: mostly Ashley) were going for, too. She just... Hated being confused for a lesbian. 

“Not to echo that dude inside, but... Are you a lesbian?” 

“Ohhh my God.” Rebecca put her face in her hands, peering through her fingers as she saw “the asshole” sit in a lawn chair next to her. “Leave me alone, please.” She muttered, hoping maybe he’d do as she asked. But it was too late, he was sunk in there. He wasn’t moving. 

“Nah, I mean, if you are, it’s legit. My older sister’s a lesbian.” 

“I’m not a lesbian I’m seriously not a lesbian ohmygod I’m not—” Rebecca raised her head from her hands, wide eyed. “Is it the hair?!” 

The guy chuckled. “It’s... It’s kind of the hair.” 

“WHY DID I EVER THINK A MULLET WAS A GOOD IDEA?!” Everybody in the backyard turned to stare, but she didn’t care. To his credit, the frat boy didn’t seem to either. He just laughed it off. 

“Sorry, man. Er, chica.” He offered his solo cup as a consolation prize. 

“Nah, thanks, I’m set.” She pointed to her similar cup on the ground and watched him drink. “How are you even standing anyway, much less drinking more? Weren’t you just over a frickin’ keg?” 

The guy laughed again—she wasn’t sure if it was because she was funny, or if he was just a happy drunk. “Well, first off, I’m not standing, I’m sitting.” 

She considered his point. “...Fair.” 

“Second...” He lifted his shirt slightly, revealing his stomach and giving it a few pats. His torso jiggled. He wasn’t a husky guy, but he definitely had a frat bod going on. She suspected if he kept it up, he’d have an onboard keg of his own in no time. “Plenty of space to keep it.” 

“...I don’t think that’s how beer works.” She laughed, but raised her cup to him. “But... thanks for like... Totally busting that dude.” 

The guy grinned and lifted his own cup in return, clinking the sides. Beer sloshed out of his glass onto the ground and all over his hand. “No—ah, _shit_ —no problem.” They laughed again, in unison this time. 

“So, you got a name, Mr. Keg Stand?” 

“Oh, yeah, I’m Cr-” 

The back door suddenly opened with a slam, making them both jump. Rebecca heard more of his beer splash on the ground. 

“Beck! We’re leaving! Fuck this party!” Ashley shouted, her boots hitting the stairs like ominous thunder. 

“Whoa, where’s her chill?” The guy now known as “Cr—” mumbled, eyes cutting to Rebecca as she stood. 

“Oh, fuck _off_ , Keg-Stand!” Ashley scoffed, tossing her cup in the grass as Rebecca placed hers on the ground gently, wincing. 

The guy raised an eyebrow at her, looking mildly amused. “Uh. My name’s Craig.” 

“Keg-Stand Craig it is! Come _on_ , Rebecca!” She shouted, storming down the driveway. Rebecca politely waved behind her as she ran a few steps to catch up, eyeing Ashley as she steamed. 

“You... Wanna talk about it?” 

“No!” 

“Oh. Cool.” 

“I never want to go to another stupid frat party for as long as I live. _Jesus._ ” 

Looking behind her, Rebecca saw the newly dubbed “Keg-Stand Craig” now standing from his lawn chair, with her cup in his hand. He watched as he shrugged and took a sip of the abandoned drink, staring at it quizzically when he realized what it actually was. Right before they turned the corner at the end of the drive, she saw him flash a smile at her. 

“...I don’t know. They might be alright.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading the first chapter. I'm sure many readers will have questions, given that the character name in the fic's description is not the same name as the main character of the chapter! I wanted to clear up any misconceptions in the first chapter, so please be aware of the following:
> 
> 1\. The main "Dadsona" character, Rowan, is a transgender man. For a realistic plot progression and relationships, I decided to start the fic when Rowan is still going by female pronouns and is using her birth name, "Rebecca". In later chapters, this will change as the character transitions. Please be aware that this fic will be used as a lens for viewing the struggle of transgender individuals, and thus there will be insensitive and triggering terms in the material later on. There will be trigger warnings in the forward notes for those times.
> 
> 2\. In terms of the timeline, Craig, (Sm)Ashley, and Rebecca/Rowan are attending their Freshman year of college in the fall of 1992. The passage of years will be important to the story's progression. 
> 
> 3\. Grand Ridge University is mentioned in the game as the college Craig, Ashley, and Dadsona went to. I decided, for the purpose of the story, that the city of Grand Ridge is located in Oregon, as is Maple Bay, albeit Grand Ridge is further inland.
> 
> The second chapter will be posted very soon, so please stay tuned and subscribe for updates!


	2. Back Then: Roller Derby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After talking to my commissioner for this fic, LittleMissHara, we decided that the story would be less of a chronologically ordered structure, and more akin to a series of out of sequence but still related oneshot pieces. Thus, these chapters still will relate to the story as a whole, but will be out of order. At the end of the fic, I’ll be able to release a list that will put all the chapters in order for those interested in reading them that way. In the meantime, my recommendation is to just sit back and enjoy the fic for what it is, and enjoy the mystery of connecting the pieces together! There will also be chapters included that focus on Rowan and Craig in their current relationship in correlation to the past, so enjoy that as well.
> 
> Please note that all recognizable characters are the property of the game creators. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story, but the author is in no way associated with the owners and creators of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> TW: Mild transphobic language & situations.

“You don’t have to come to these things, you know.” Rowan’s words were muffled by his scarf, which he had sunk his face deep into in order to have a buffer between his nose and the wind. The cup of coffee in his hand helped to stave off the frigid November temperature from setting into his bones, but to his left, Craig seemed unperturbed by the chilliness. He hadn’t even bothered to zip his coat up since the two had left their dorm to walk across town. 

“What, and miss watching women wear war paint and hit each other? I don’t think so, bro.” 

Rowan pulled a face, tugging his scarf down to sip his coffee. Despite the insulated cup, it was starting to get cold. He’d have to polish it off soon. After he took a sip, he sighed, looking up at the sky with a frown. “It’s... Not all that great.” 

“Then why do _you_ go, man?” 

That was the hundred dollar question of the night if there ever was one, but Rowan chose not to dignify it with a response. Instead, he pointed to a bunch of televisions in the window of a thrift shop they were walking by, which were facing the window and playing the news. “So, you think Michael Jackson did all that stuff everybody says he did or what?” 

Craig scoffed and rolled his eyes, following his gaze to the window. “Mmm, deflecting a hard ball with a question about pedophilia? That’s a new low for you.” They paused in their walk regardless, watching the newscast. Apparently, the police had searched Michael Jackson’s house the day before, and they hadn’t found anything. It was a pretty boring attempt at trying to be relevant. 

Wrinkling his nose at the talking head on the TV, Craig shrugged and kept walking, forcing Rowan to follow. “I don’t know, dude.” 

“I think they were only accusing him for the money.” Rowan decided, and Craig laughed. 

“What? Bro, you thought the first episode of X-Files was based on a real story.” 

Bristling, Rowan’s face flushed as he nestled his face into a scarf. “I missed the first ten minutes! I thought it was a dramatization! And that’s totally different!” 

“Dude, how did the body in the coffin being an orangutan not tip you off that it was just a show?” 

“Hey! Now that’s an honest mistake—” But by that point, both of them were laughing, the topic forgotten as they turned the corner to the street they were looking for. Rowan dug into his coat pocket and fished out the directions he had wrote out for them, Craig looking over his shoulder as he read his terrible handwriting over again. 

“It should be a couple blocks down.” Rowan explained, tucking the note back in his pocket. 

“Is Smashley actually playing this time, or are you there to be her benchwarmer punching bag again?” His friend questioned, taking the opportunity to steal the coffee from Rowan, who gave it up willingly. He wasn’t going to finish it anyway, Craig knew that by the way he waved it off when he offered it back. 

Rubbing the back of his neck, Rowan looked off to the side, shrugging. “I don’t know, bro—nah, you have it, seriously—” Craig drank the last of his coffee happily as he went on, “After the last bout she wouldn’t talk to me. But I mean, she still put the tickets in my English department mailbox, so she must still want me to come, right?” 

Shrugging, Craig tossed the cup into a trash can they passed on the sidewalk. “You know her better than I do, dude. She’s been your friend since elementary. I only _just_ stopped getting her to call me ‘The Kegger’ when I see her on campus.” He frowned at the thought. “You’d think that she’d appreciate the nickname _she_ gave me catching on.” 

“No, she’s too spiteful for that. If anything, she hates you for it.” 

“Remind me not to ask her on any dates, then.” Laughing, Craig elbowed Rowan slightly while he wiggled his eyebrows, making the shorter man roll his eyes. 

“She’d eat you alive, dude.” 

“You’re telling me. This it?” The two’s journey ended in front of the local high school’s gym, and Rowan nodded, gesturing for Craig to follow him to the double doors leading in. 

“Yeah, they rent the gym from the school on the weekends they don’t have basketball.” 

“Cool.” Craig noted, stepping inside and watching as Rowan fished the tickets out and gave them to a surly looking woman at a folding card table just inside. The woman had the remnants of a bruise around her eye, and Rowan decided she must have been one of the players, sitting out the first bout to collect tickets. 

Sneaking a last glance over his shoulder, Craig followed Rowan down the hall to the entrance of the gym before leaning down to whisper in his ear. “Do they all look that angry?” 

“Oh no! Just the blockers.” Rowan replied, trying to sound cheery. 

“Oh.” Craig stood up straight for a second, then leaned back down to whisper again. “...What’s a blocker, bro?” 

The doors to the gym swung open, and Rowan was greeted to the sound of conversations in the stands. The floor had already been marked out with the usual smattering of traffic cones in various sizes and colors. Climbing up the bleachers to rest in a spot about a third of the way up and behind the player’s bench, Rowan settled in and started pulling off his coat, hat, and gloves. Craig, for his part, merely had to shrug out of his coat. 

“Blockers are the ones who are trying to hit people. There’s a jammer, and she’s usually a smaller girl, and she’s the one scoring points. When they have a round, or a jam, they have four blockers and one jammer. Sometimes they’ll have one person play as a pivot, and she switches between being a blocker or a jammer in the course of a bout. Makes sense?” 

Craig surveyed the course in front of him, the fans, the referees on roller skates that were checking the course, and nodded, slowly. “...No.” 

Chuckling, Rowan waved it off. “You’ll get it as you watch.” 

“Fair enough, bro. Is there food at these things?” Craig questioned, patting his stomach and looking around. 

“Over there.” Rowan gestured to the concession stand built into the gym’s wall, and Craig slapped his roommate’s knee before standing up. 

“Awesome. Two popcorns and a couple Dews?” 

Pepsi, and they have nachos too, if you want them.” 

Craig laughed, already heading down the bleachers. “Dude, if I _don’t_ want nachos, I’ve been X-filed and replaced!” He called over his shoulder, making Rowan grin. 

“Stop trying to make our guilty pleasure show a verb, man!” 

“It’ll catch on!” Craig yelled with finality, and Rowan was too aware of people starting to stare for him to try and continue arguing. Instead, he watched Craig make his way over to the concession stand, smile fading as he glanced back over the gym bleachers. He didn’t know anybody here but Craig and Ashley, from what he could tell. Ashley was probably downstairs in the locker rooms changing anyway, and to be honest, Rowan wasn’t sure if he wanted to talk to her after the last time. But still, she was his friend, and he was there to support her and all of her derby... Endeavors. 

Craig came back with soda and nachos for the two of them to eat, and once the chips were gone, Rowan watched in a combination of horror and fascination as his roommate licked the rest of the cheese out of the plastic container, refusing to waste any of it. Once he was done, Rowan wrestled the tiny plastic try away, shaking his head even as the two were laughing. 

“No, I’m confiscating this. I’m throwing it away before you start eating the plastic; you can’t be trusted!” He shouted as he headed down the bleachers, chuckling to himself as he spotted the trash can and aimed for it. 

“Hey, Becks!” 

_And there goes the moment._

Rowan was halfway turned around when he realized that, if he wanted Ashley to stop calling him that, he shouldn’t respond to it. But it was too late, she was already rolling up in her skates, looking proud of herself, and there was nothing he could do. Besides, he didn’t want to fight with her before her jam. That’d put her off her game, or... whatever. 

“Hey, Smashley.” 

“‘Heeeey Smashley’,” She mimicked him with a mockingly sad tone, laughing as she put a hand on his shoulder. “Look alive! You sound like somebody died.” Rowan was about to say something, but she was already plowing ahead, cutting him off. “C’mon, I want you to meet the other girls.” 

“Ah, okay.” Rowan tossed the container in the trash and shoved his hands in his pockets as Ashley wheeled across the floor ahead of him. “Uh, hey, Ash?” She wheeled around on her skates before they got to the other derby girls, and Rowan ran a hand across the back of his neck nervously. Looking up into the stands, he realized Craig was watching him, a concerned look on his face. He looked like he was about to get up before Rowan glanced back to Ashley, smiling weakly. 

“You... You’re going to introduce me as _Rowan_ , right?” 

Ashley blinked and groaned before rolling her eyes. “Yeah, I mean, if you want, I guess.” 

“I do want. ...You to. I guess, okay.” He mumbled, but Ashley was already turning back around and skating over to the bench again, so Rowan followed. This. This was why he had second thoughts about coming. Now he remembered. 

“So, ladies, this is _Rowan_.” Ashley exaggerated his name, but at least she said it. For his part, Rowan smiled and waved at the small group of four women on skates, all of whom looked like they could and _would_ thoroughly beat the shit out of him for lunch money, even the ones that were shorter than him. 

“Hey.” He offered, unsure of what else to say. 

“This is MadDonna, Elizabite Bashory, Sadist Hawkins, and Toxic Haste.” Ashley introduced each woman by their derby titles instead of their real names, making Rowan nervous—sure, each one was printed on the back of their respective jerseys, but how would he remember if he was looking at them? Which one was the sadist again? The blonde? Oh shit, this was already a bad idea. 

“Hey bro, meeting the team without me?” Craig sidled up and waved at all the women, grinning from ear to ear even as Ashley scoffed and rolled her eyes. 

“Oh, and _this_ piece of work is _Craig_.” She muttered darkly, but Rowan smiled. At least she’d said his name this time, instead of writing him off completely. That was progress. The smirk faded once she fixed him with a look, though. “I thought you were going to bring that guy from your chemistry class, not _him_.” She huffed, and Rowan blinked. 

“Craig _is_ in my chemistry class.” He told her, his words slow and careful. 

“Yeah, thank God, or my ass would have failed for sure, bro.” Even in the face of certain death, Craig was relentlessly positive. It was almost sickening, and Rowan was certain that Ash didn’t appreciate his positivity. 

Suddenly, one of the women—was it Elizabite—snapped and pointed at Rowan, a look of realization on her face. “Oh, I know you! On Grand Ridge campus; you’re the guy!” 

There was a sinking suspicion that Rowan knew what she meant, but he asked anyway. “The guy?” 

“Yeah, the, uh. What’s it called, you had to move to the guy’s dorms because you got a...” Her voice lowered and she leaned in, whispering like it was something dirty, “A sex change, right?” 

Bristling, Rowan felt his face get red—he was sure that he was going full crimson, not even just a little pink. “That, well, that’s a little personal—” 

Ashley shook her head and stepped in. “No, Rowan hasn’t gotten a sex change.” Why did she say it like that? Out loud, like other people could hear?! “And the campus wouldn’t even let him move into the other dorms, anyway.” _That wasn’t helping, why was Ashley trying to help anyway, stop it, stop—_

“Oh, but doesn’t he live in the guy’s dorms?” 

“Well, for now, anyway. I mean—” Ashley started, and Rowan wasn’t sure what she was about to say, though he suspected it wasn’t going to be anything good. 

Thankfully, Craig cut her off. “Rowan lives with me.” 

There was some strange finality in his tone, in that moment where Craig looked at all the women in front of him like he was daring them to say anything else, up until he smiled and shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s pretty great having him for a roommate, we get a mountain of Taco Hell and watch reruns of Hawaii Five-O and M*A*S*H all day.” 

How he managed to successfully derail the topic, Rowan would never know, but Toxic Haste suddenly launched into a story about how she met Alan Alda on a plane, and there was a sigh of relief when, halfway through her story, the whistle blew for the bout to begin. 

Sitting up in the bleachers, Rowan leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, watching the racers, particularly Ashley. Craig sat beside him, mirroring his posture. The crowd around them had erupted in cheers, shouting, and wolf whistles, but the two of them were silent, practically pensive. It wasn’t a good look. Craig must’ve felt the unease radiating off Rowan, because he elbowed his roommate and leaned over to talk above the crowd. His facial expression was deathly serious, and for a second, Rowan was concerned that Craig was going to make a remark about Ashley—because if he did, what was he going to defend her with now? 

“Jackson definitely did it, bro.” There was a beat of silence between them, and Craig smirked. 

Snickering, Rowan looked back to the skaters, wincing as he watched Ashley get knocked down by another woman. “You don’t think it was for the money?” He asked, and Craig shrugged. 

“I mean, I’ll be surprised if they don’t get money out of it, but let’s be real, bro, was that ever a question?” 

“Touché.” 

“...You wanna get out of here and get Denny’s, bro?” 

Rowan was already putting on his coat by the time he finished. “Ugh, God yes.” Craig followed suit, and the two of them slipped out while the crowd was cheering on the skaters, hitting the crisp outside air at a half jogging pace. 

“Sorry you didn’t get to hit on women in war paint.” Rowan mumbled, his face buried behind his scarf again as he held the concession stand Pepsi in his gloved hand. 

Craig chugged the last of his Mountain Dew, dunking it into the high school’s trash can. “Bro, if I ever hit on a woman with ‘Sadist’ for a nickname, I’ve been X-filed.” 

There was a beat of silence. 

Craig looked over, grimacing. “Still not a thing?” 

“...Dude, it’ll never be a thing.” 

“Damn.”


End file.
